Old Lenses And Long Stories (Part One)

Morning squirls and tots . . well, what can I do for you today?

What was that at the back? Speak up lad. I cannae hear ya!

Ah yes, another piece about trying to emulate a famous photographer's technique like wot I did with Ralph Gibson?

Yes, well that sounds interesting.

And what?

What?

Call it the Garry Winogrand Experiment?

Well, maybe not, but then again . . .

Regular FB'ers . .or just plain ol' F'ers (you don't mind being called that do you?) will know that I dedicate all my spare spending money for your delectation and enjoyment; in fact, I would say that I selflessly buy myself all these things just to please my readers who are a knowledgable lot and not a little bit inclined to enjoy my purchases just as much as I do!

It's your fault that I spend days and weeks staring at pictures of Hasselblads. Your fault I dissect the relative merits of every single 35mm lens that would fit my Leica . . and dammit, it's because of you lot that I lost my resolve and chunked my Hasselblad fund in favour of a 1957 (or thereabouts) 28mm Canon f2.8 rangefinder lens (and finder) to fit the M2.

Damn you all. But I just couldn't take the pressure.

I could feel it on me all the time. Buy. Buy. Buy . . .

So I did.

And the relevance of this lens to everything?

Well it is none other than the same (not the same, no not his, but the same type) used by Sir Garry of the Winogrand during his formative years in the early to mid-1960's, before he used Leitz lenses.

It is an interesting lens - the fastest of its type when first made, and nowadays, though considerably a cult lens, generally considered an also-ran in terms of sharpness, fall-off, vignetting, use, etc etc.

So why the chuffin' 'eck did I buy the useless thing then?

Well, apart from it being all your fault, I already own another Canon lens - a really nice, late Blackbelt 50mm f1.8 and being totally impressed with that and its wonderful build quality, I succumbed.

Add to this that, to be honest, I have become a bit bored with everything being 'normal' visually as it were and getting a really decent price on the deal  . . well, what can you do, except go a little crazy every now and then!

The Sepia Glow Of Memory
Leica M2 & Canon 28mm f2.8 Lens

And there you go - that's the little beauty resplendent on my M2 . . they go together like cheese and toast don't they. I especially like the finder on top too - it all looks incredibly space-age and just so 1950's-NOW

However, before we get all excited and dash around like mad schoolboys on a humbug bender, I will halt this reverie immediately - you see one problem arose when I made my initial quick inspection of the lens - it had separation on the rear element . . In the words of someone who regularly drinks Yorkshire Tea . . "By chuffin' 'eck. What a bloomin' nuisance missus an' that's no mistake!"

In case you don't know, it means that the elements of lens glass cemented together with Canada Balsam were becoming uncemented. It never gets better, and basically is a time-bomb waiting to get worse, or not worse . . so, despite falling immediately in love with the lens, I contacted the vendor and we arranged a deal on a near mint 28mm f3.5 Canon that he had in stock instead.

It isn't quite the Winogrand special . . . however it is of the correct era and only a stop slower (and by all accounts sharper than the 2.8). So lets sit by our letterbox with the elephant gun and see if we can pick off the postie from this distance . . .

The Cold Light Of Day
Leica M2 & Canon 28mm f3.5 (Type IV) Lens

There, that's better . . so what do you think of the camera now? 

The lens is about mid-1950's and is a solid piece of exquisite craftsmanship - it is surprisingly small and surprisingly heavy and very beautiful. Peter Loy (the vendor) was right in his condition description (as he always is) - the glass is as clear as a bell, focus is smoother than a knife through butter and the aperture is easy and positive. All in all, it's hard to imagine the lens is that old and has seen a useful life. In fact, were I of a nutty mind I could stand on a street corner with my M2 and one of these on a short strap, with a trilby on my head, and pretend I am working for Life Magazine!

The design was the fastest wide angle in the world at the time of original production in 1951, and I can see why Leica were worried - it is a beautifully made thing. I've trawled through lots of Life photographers biogs and photos, and this looks to be one of the lenses favoured by them at the time, as well as being a stalwart of the Korean War. . so that can only be a good thing, can't it.

And you know what? I would be more than happy just to sit here and look at it all day, but that's no good . . To be honest, I am steadily dying (as are we all) - entropy is catching up with us - life is moving quickly . . someone might just be pulling a perfect monkey pose on a pelican crossing whilst a real monkey is actually crossing in front of him . . . in other words - THERE'S NO TIME TO LOSE!

And this folks, is how you should approach you picture making . . like the greatest thing is out there.

And you know what? It is, and the thing is you never know when it is going to be right there in front of you.

So where does that leave us . . well, back to the original tenet of the Blog - trying to emulate and photograph like a classic 1950's/60's 'street' (I hate that term, but for want of a better word) photographer.

So, Leica - CHECK

Reasonably priced (at the time) Japanese wide angle lens - CHECK.

I seem to have forgotten something . .

Oh yeah FILM.

Well, I've got that sorted out - some Tri-X that I've had nesting with the blocks of cheese in the fridge, so I'll use that . . . and . . . I am going to be doing the unheard of for me . . pushing it to unheard of speeds AND over-developing . . .

Yes, I know!

Look it's alright, I'll wait whilst you go and sort that mess out in your trousers . . . I must admit, mine are in a similar state too . . TERRIFYING isn't it.

See you in a min.

There's that's better - not sure how I'm going to explain a full-on brown-trouser moment to the missus, but I'll address it later on over a pot of tea . .

Anyway, bless me barnacles . . I hate to imagine how this is going to turn out . . . but sometimes you just have to go for things.

So, film? - CHECK.

Ready to go? Well, not quite, because thinking about it, my main problem is that I don't live in a vast urban sprawl, just a smallish city on the East Coast of Scotland (there simply aren't teeming hordes of people so preoccupied with their lives that they don't notice someone taking their photograph). If I were to achieve anything, I would have to approach this my way, or risk the long arm of the law again (a long story, best viewed here). So really, people snapping is probably out, which is just as well.

And are there any tips the pros can add to my excursion? Well, according to Joel Meyerowitz, who often photographed with Garry Winogrand:

" It's a difference in the ASA at which you're shooting. We were using Tri-X film pushed to 1200 ASA, whereas the normal rating is 400. The reason was to be able to shoot at 1/1000th of a second as much as possible, because if you made pictures on the street at 1/125th, they were blurry. If you lunged at something, either it would move or else your own motion would mess up the picture. I began to work that way after looking at my pictures and noticing that they had those loose edges, Garry's were crisp. (Robert) Frank didn't work that way. His pictures were much slower. You could see he was working at 1/30th and 1/60th and 1/125th."

Now there were several things about this statement that had me worried and scratching my head, so I grabbed my trusty light meter, pulled up a pot of tea and had a think

Firstly:

"We were using Tri-X film pushed to 1200 ASA"

Now maybe you're thinking the same as me . .1200 ASA? OK, so Tri-X's box rating is 400 . . . shouldn't it be 1600, and put the 1200 down to a crazy old brain recalling stuff incorrectly? Well, the more I thought about it, the more confused I got, and then, like a wet cod around the face it hit me . . of course . . they were experienced photographers, so they'll probably have gone for the fact that Tri-X's actual speed is nearer 320, so + 2 stop push that and you have 320, 640, 1280. That was as near a good enough explanation for me, 1280 it would be.

Then:

"The reason was to be able to shoot at 1/1000th of a second as much as possible, because if you made pictures on the street at 1/125th, they were blurry."

Now, to me there is a massive problem here - this is Scotland. There's often no way in a million years on a bog standard East Coast day you can achieve 1/1000th of a second and get anything useable. As you can see from the meter reading below (taken on the morning of my excursion) a reading for a rough shadow placement achieves an EV of just short of 12. Even at 1280 and using that as a placement for a Zone IV shadow I would be operating on f2.8 . . and as the more astute of you have seen, I no longer have that option.

Postcards From A Scottish Sitting Room

Man's Best Friend

So, basically I would have to forgo my usual Z IV shadow placement and fly by the seat of my pants on either a ZIII or even heaven forbid a ZII shadow . . och well . . life is interesting. I concluded from this that I could probably manage 1/250th at f8, or 1/125th at f11. This was starting to look a lot like:

The Garry Winogrand Experiment  

The Bog Standard Bloke With A Wide-Angle Lens Experiment

or even

The (Shit) Bog Standard Bloke With A Wide-Angle Lens Experiment 

Yep, things were looking more dire than a lone redcoat at Rourk's Drift. Well fortunately for me (and you) things perked up a bit by lunchtime . . the haar lifted and the sky was quite bright even though there was no sunshine . . come heading out time, I took a few more meter readings and came up with:

So that was better.

If I took chances and trusted my processing I could achieve a Zone IV, III or even II shadow placement and hopefully everything would work out alright.

Could it be your intrepid fruitcake photographer could achieve his goal of 1/1000th at f8?

Would he be able to grab shots of passers-by with a smile on his face and no fear of a bloody nose?

Well?

Well, now dear reader I am going to leave you on tenderhooks, because this has become far too wordy and boring and stuff, and I haven't even gone into the niceties of developers (oh boy that's a fun one - more fun than catching yer nether-regions on a barbed-wire fence I can tell you . . and yes . . I have . . .well nearly . . about 35 years ago - tore the arse out of my jeans and very nearly achieved eunuch-hood). 

So to that end (if you can bear the tension) until next time . . anon!

Och alright - you've twisted my arm - below is a scan from the negatives, so please excuse any artefacts like that faint horizontal line . . that's my flatbed at work.
Exposure was 1/30th at f16 and the film was developed in HC 110, Dilution B for 16 minutes.

I think it has the tonality I have been after for a long time.

Abandoned Building. University Of Dundee, April, 2014

 

Art, Pain And The Eternal Struggle

Morning folks . . in fact, to coin a phrase from a friend of my Dad's, who was Welsh and not Irish 'Top o' the mornin' to you! Don't you just love it when the dawn beats you to rising . . my favourite time of year.
Anyway, enough of that, because we are about to talk about graft.
Hard Graft.
Damn Hard.
In fact, if you don't feel up to a bit of a solid workout, then you might as well give up now, because, and I'll say this only once:
"The Darkroom Boot Camp Makes Men."
There.
Now any of you solid young fellows that don't feel much like working, well, you can leave now, and take your dollies with you, because what we are talking about today is Man-Stuff.
It soon sorts out the wheat from the chaff, and if you don't feel up to it, you jolly well know what you can do.

It is really rather easy to see why hardly anyone bothers to print with traditional darkroom materials these days.
To put it bluntly, making a 'proper' monochrome print (on silver gelatin paper, using an enlarger and a negative) is fucking hard.
There, I've said it.
I can't say I have ever seen it put like that before (not even in the original proof version of Mr. Ansel Adams' Meisterwerk 'The Print').
But it is true.
And how can I say it?
Well, I have spent a large period of my adult life spare time toiling away in darkrooms - approximately 30 years actually, and whilst I consider myself a good and able printer, I am not sure whether I have ever even crossed that borderline into the legendary realms of the 'fine' printer.

Others might disagree with me, however (and this is where the tao of self-belief comes in) they're wrong. You see, my problem is that I tend towards self-criticism and a lack of self-confidence in all of my creative endeavours, and this leads to the rather unhealthy situation of being too critical of my prints.
I can print. Sure I can print well.
But I am not 'fine' .
See what I mean? That damn lack of confidence. Hoist 'pon my own petard as it were.
If I were different I'd be saying:

"Yeah, 30 years Analog (how I bloody hate that word) - man I can print up a storm. 

Split Grade? Yehay, piece of easy shit. 

Toning . . send on the selenium. 

Archival processing? Man, my shit will last longer than that radiation leak from Fukashima 

l'm ALL ANALOG man."

Or words to that effect.
But the proof of the pudding and all that - the object, is sitting there in your hand staring you in the face and it's either the cat's pyjamas or a total mutt, because you see, there's no glossing over things with printing.
You are holding the truth in your hand, and it is either being held with an archival cotton museum glove or feverishly clutched in your nicotine-stained hand whilst you shake your other fist at the sky. There's no escaping the truth.


I spent a reasonable amount of time this morning scanning through tons of old prints for the first time in months and months, and maybe the break has done me good, because I was clearly able to see the rejects and the also-rans, the winners and the sure-fire pleasurable prints. 

You'll find some scans at the end of this blog and see if you agree.

The thing is though (that apart from the total hounds) at the end of each respective printing sessions I loved most of the prints I had made, because that is the nature of printing.

It can be a pleasurable activity. 

You are crafting something of the three-dimensional world into the critical and narrow realism of the two-dimensional print

And sometimes, just sometimes, that 3-D world is transformed into a 2-D image of such passion and beauty it takes your breath away.

But a lot of the time it isn't.
You can't escape the truth.

It is though, an object; and an object you've made.
It may not change lives in the way say a viewing of Edward Weston's contact prints does. But it is you.

And if you've made the negatives and processed them yourself as well, it is all you, and stands or falls on your skills and vision.

It is (or can be) the culmination of a very complex process, a juxtapositioning of skill, eye, taste, ability, luck and craft.

And it is fucking hard.   

There's that 'f' word again.

I'm not labouring the point either, because darkroom work is mostly a solo activity.

Nobody else is around to see the eye-strain, the smells of spilt chemicals, the blue air, the messed-up borders, scratched negatives, dust, fevered dodging and burning, test-stripping, counting, airless-sweating, more dust and bad skin/chemical reactions, until you emerge from your not-so-secret bunker clutching a couple of pieces of paper, blinking in the cold daylight and shouting "AT LAST!".

Oh no - if you're lucky someone will say, "Hey, they're nice."
And that's it.
And as if this slaving away in the red room wasn't enough, then there's the masochism of  penury:
Penury?
Yeah, you know, that noun that equates to "the state of being very poor; extreme poverty".
Viz: "he couldn't face another year of penury"

Some synonyms are:
extreme/dire poverty
pennilessness
impecuniousness

impoverishment
indigence
need
neediness
want
destitution
privation

See what I mean - appropriate don't you think, because photography in general, has never been a poor man's hobby.
And in fact I can think of no other hobby (apart from say diamond collecting) that requires such an ungodly amount of cash to keep it going.

Again, no wonder hardly anyone prints any more . .
Why's that Sheephouse? I hear you cry

Well, to put it bluntly, it is fucking expensive.
You know, you can spend the best part of £80-£90 on a box of 100 sheets of 10x8" fibre paper.
Add in say another £20 odd on enough chemicals to get 50 or so archivally processed prints out.
And subtract from that 50 prints (of which maybe 5 to 10 are acceptable if you are being honest and of those, maybe 3 or 4 are truly things you love) the rest of that paper (approximately £40-odds worth in today's prices) which gets put away in old paper boxes, never to be looked at again!
So looking at that box of 100 sheets, you've maybe got 8 in total that you love; maybe 20 that are acceptable, and 72 that don't cut the mustard.

You see what I mean, printing is not just hard, but economically it's fucking hard.

I'll stop using the 'f‘ word to put my point across now - apparently it tells you (the reader) that I am substantially lacking in vocabulary . . make of that what you will . . .

So why, when this is an obvious case of pouring money down the drain do the few hardy souls left doing it, actually do it?

Masochism?

Blind Faith?

Insanity?
Well blind faith is close to it actually, and the pleasure of making art - you might only be scratching your shitty stick against a corner of a cave in the furthest reaches of the Lascaux cave system, but at least it is your bit of cave . .  the compulsion to make beautiful things is as old as mankind.
The compulsion to make something that might just last longer than you, is even older.
In one of my favourite films (Moonstruck), a man asks a woman why men have affairs, to which she answers "Because they are afraid of death".
Whilst printing isn't quite like that, it is in a way.
Aside from the conscious deliberation to make something that is pleasing to the eye, I feel the underlying urge is to make something that will be your little piece of eternity. Something to which massed hordes might flock and worship, in much the same way that true vintage prints by the greats of traditional photography provide the same attraction. You stand and marvel at someone's vision and soul scooped from light and form and writ large with passion on a flat piece of sensitized paper.
It is magical.
Almost as magical as those hand prints in Lascaux, though maybe not as archival.


I had the good fortune to view the touring Ansel Adams exhibition in Edinburgh a few years back - it was really extraordinary. Not just for the images, but for the quality of the printing, which was absolutely superb. The images breathed an air of unqualified precision of concept and untouchable artisanal skills - they were really special, and whether their totem-like qualities were helped along by the subdued lighting and the fact they were under glass and proper artistic OBJECTS I knoweth not . . all I do know is that they made such a deep impression on my wife and I that we went back to see them again. They were in their own way a photographic Lourdes . . where the outcome could be life-changing.
I left determined to be a better printer . . but haven't succeeded.
But back to that compulsion


I also like to think of printing as being rather like climbing a hill.
You are always trying to reach that distant pinnacle.
You might well reach one impressive top or plateau, but you can always see more tempting ones to head off towards, and each one of those is your image's potential,

But look!
There!
There, miles away!!
The most beautiful one!!!
Well that my friend, that could well be the best print you've ever made in your life . . .
But can you reach it?

It is going to be a hard slog, and incredibly daunting, and you might well fail.

Surely it would be easier to sit down here and take it all in
After all, you can admire those peaks from a distance. There's really no need to trouble yourself, because it probably isn't worth the effort to make it to those lofty snow-covered crags.
And besides, isn't it supposed to be fucking hard?

Well yes, it is, and a number of you will fall along the way and be content to rest your weary bones, after all, this craft stuff takes stamina, steely determination and downright grit.
But then this is your craftsmanship we're talking about. Are you just going to sit there and be content to munch your sandwiches and slurp your coffee on the great tartan blanket of also-ran printing, or are you going to pack it all away, hoist your backpack and get moving before the light goes . . remember, this is one life . . there's only so much light left to determine how immortal you'll be.
You have to keep moving, keep walking, keep taking in the sights and sounds and keep enjoying the journey, because despite the effort involved, remember it is (or can be) a pleasurable activity . .
So my friends, I'll remove my soapbox now and say:
Practice, practice and practice . .
Printing is like learning a musical instrument — you'll never improve if you don't practice.

And you never know, if you keep heading on to those distant peaks, maybe Ansel, or Edward or Wynn will be up there ahead of you on the trail, holding themselves back, just waiting for you with a nice refreshing draught of inspiration.

The snarlin' hounds:

It's a print Jim, but not as we know it. Totally lacking in any impact whatsoever.

Ghastly. Bad Grade Choice and the spectre of the film masking blade on the enlarger causing underexposure on the left of the print.

The photograph has real atmosphere, but the print is as flat as anything.

Even when you think you have a good print, things conspire against you. The black top right edge is a manufacturing fault!

The Cat's Pyjamas:

This is a little series called 'City Of Discovery' all made in Dundee. They're 35mm negatives made with my old Nikon F2 and the 35mm f2 pre-Ai Nikkor.
The pale edges you see next to the blackness of the rebate are adjacency effects from film development.
Paper size is 10x8" and they're nice as physical objects.

This is called 'The Pilgrim's Way' and it was taken on St Cuthbert's footpath, which follows the route of Dere Street in the Scottish Borders. I was so taken by the quality of light and the ethereal feeling I had whilst walking this ancient track that I had to make a photograph. It's probably boring to you, but to me it has feeling. The camera was my Rolleflex T with the 6.45cm mask inserted. The quality of the negative is very fine.

I adore this photograph and print.
The photograph was made on my Rollei T using Trix-X on an incredibly bright day. What you are seeing is shadow and reflection and the dehydrated remnants of water on a window in one of the hot-houses at St Andrews Botanical Garden . . one of the finest little botanical gardens in Scotland - visit it and buy some plants.
Paper was 10x8" Ilford Galerie and I would happily display this print anywhere and not look sheep(house)ish.

Believe it or not these two images were made on the same film and on the same day - they flowed together and all was right with the world.

However, even in my hour of triumph you'll maybe notice in the first print that spectre of the masking blade encroaching on the right side of the image. Still, it'll do for the moment . . should anyone ask me to exhibit these I would of course reprint.

Both are printed on untoned 8x10" Ilford Galerie.

Archival Storage. Silverprint Archival box and crystal clear polyester sleeves.

Donkey derby stables - that's about 500 sheets of fibre 8x10.

The print as a real object

Two more.

This one didn't scan well, so this is all you get.

La Pasión!

Morning folks - it has been quite a while hasn't it. What have you been up to? Hopefully making the most of the terrible weather to make some images rather than huddling down in your caves and muttering.

Well, today's post made me jump from my bed at 4.45AM, so something must have fired me up . . .

And you know what, it has . . . and the more I think about it the more my blood boils and the more agitated I become.

What might this be?

The price of commodities?

The terrible injustices of Syria?

Bruce Forsyth?

Nope . . none of them.

I'll tell you in a minute - honest, I will.

Regular readers will well know that I have extolled the virtues of a book called simply "Darkroom", published oodles ago by Ralph Gibson's long-defunct Lustrum Press. Well, contained within it's pages is an article by one of my favourite photographers, Mr. Wynn Bullock.

You've heard of him, right?

If not, and before we go any further I shall direct you in the direction of his website, curated and owned by his family:

http://www.wynnbullockphotography.com/index.html

His photographs are fluid and cool; incredibly rich in detail and tone; thought-provoking and evocative. But above all else, they contain a secret ingredient - Passion.

It flows out of his images like water down a Glen. It is, as they say in some parts, as plain as the nose on your face.

I am not going to go into a lengthy diatribe about his technical prowess or compositional skills, instead I am going to point you in the direction of a statement of his, written as plainly as, er . . . the nose on your face . .

Ready?

Here goes:

"In the popular magazines I see photographs by some of the best technicians in the world, but these are usually the worst pictures I've ever seen because they have little sense of tone or balance. Tone, balance and other visual senses are all part of 'eye' training. If one has a keen sense of what is needed in a picture, one has to know how to get it. But if you know a lot of technique, and don't have a sense of direction, the technique is useless. Picture sense only comes from the development of one's own faculties. Except to a limited degree it can't be learned from books or teachers. nature, from whence all things come, cannot be packaged in neat little academic boxes to be opened as needed."

Common sense and an impassioned plea from a man who made photographs better than any of us could ever hope to take.

It's a statement that has distilled in my mind for quite a number of years, and it has forced me to leap from my bed, brew a bucket of tea and get typing . . so it must mean something!

OK you're saying - he's off on one again; well I suppose I am, but what has got my goat?

Well folks, remember when you were at school and there was always some sort of exclusive elite who were never touched by anything, were always good at sports and always had girls hanging off them?

Remember how they were drawn together like flies 'round sherbet?

Well, it happens in photographic circles too.

There they are. Look, over there . . a bunch of mostly middle-aged men.

It looks like some sort of an exclusive club, full of chummy mates who are parading around with some of the most expensive photographic gear in the world!

Look, they're smirking at you and I, us plain-Jane boring and ordinary 'photographers' with our dogs and donkey-carts of old and knackered Rolleis and Wistas and Mamiya Press cameras and Koni-Omegas.

Look . . . they're pointing! They're tittering!

Well, whilst not quite like that, I can't help feeling that at its heart, it really is, and I really don't know why, because as far as I can see there's nothing being produced that wouldn't be perfectly at home on a 1970's chocolate box.

I truly feel that I am going to get a lot of flack for this, but I am on one now, so I'll keep going.

Let's get one of them over and see what they have to say.

Oi!

You!!

Yes, you over there.

That's right, the one in the specially-designed-for-photographers Olive Green Paramo jacket.

Yes you . . . Landscape Photographer . . come 'ere!

Now don't get me wrong - I have absolutely nothing against Landscape Photographers, because you see, at heart, I am one of them.

Right back to my earliest photographic stumblings, carefully tutored by Mr. Joseph McKenzie, I took baby-steps, toted a Mamiya C330S on a tripod and photographed the landscape.

I made images, lovingly, of the riverbank where I used to live. I processed them carefully, I printed them large and archivally on Ilford Galerie. I spotted the prints and mounted them beautifully

Remember, this was back in the 1980's when such activities were niche to say the least (well at least in Britain they were . . .and Scotland? . . . . don't get me started).

My degree show consisted of a hell of a lot of landscapes and to a man they interested nobody.

But it was in my heart. I got, as Mr. James Brown has been known to sing, The Feeling.

I would stand outside Jessops window gazing longingly at Zenza Bronicas, thinking to myself, if only I had one I could become the photographer I want to be. I was as desperate to get my hands on a Hasselblad as anything. I wanted to wander long miles and photograph the wonder and beauty of nature. But I didn't. I ended up drifting into music retail and it is only now, thinking about it and having the leisure time to practice it, that my feelings about Landscape Photography are re-surfacing again, like an itch that never quite got scratched.

But in that intervening 30-odd years a lot has changed - nowadays all I see pretty much are landscape photographs . .

They're everywhere, they're legion. People are interested.

They've got their own printed magazines like Outdoor Photography. There are numerous online magazines. There's articles everywhere about how to take a great landscape photograph. There are competitions, like Landscape Photographer Of The Year. There are oodles of workshops and seminars and trips here, there and everywhere.

And it goes on.

It's never been more popular.

And yet?

Yet?

And, here I raise my head above the parapet and see who's shooting . . it has truly never been more shite.

OK, that's me damned, never to be accepted into that club by my peers.

Honestly 95.999% of modern Landscape Photography is truly terrible.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, it is dull.

Dull beyond the dullest of fat-laden bowls of dirty washing-up water.

But why should that be given there are so many people practicing it?

Well (and here I get radical again) it has its roots in a couple of things, but the most damning of them has to be complete visual laziness and . . . here comes the big one . . absolutely no feeling for the landscape whatsoever.

What a revelation. After all aren't those smug looking guys and gals standing over there going out and capturing the light for us?

Aren't they working the light?

Look he's got a complete set of Lee Filters, so he must be a landscape photographer!

She's got a Linhof Technorama, she must be a Landscape Photographer!

They've got a Phase One Digital Back mounted on an Ebony and are using Schneider Fine Art Lenses, surely they're Landscape Photographers!

Surely? They're certainly buying equipment like they are, because, remember, only the best equipment will help you make the Ultimate Landscape Photograph..

It gets worse - there are people who have the GPS co-ordinates of Ansel Adams tripod holes and go and photograph the same scenes with the same gear! The same thing happens with Joe Cornish - his followers are legion and obsessive. Bill Schwab? Michael Kenna? Yep they've all got their scene-groupies. Photographers who will slavishly follow their leaders without having a clue as to why the original photographer made their image in the first place.

You have to feel it, because Landscape is all about reacting to two things.

You think I am going to say light don't you.

'Working the Light' . . I would dearly love to meet whoever came up with that and give them a good thump.

It's shite.

You react to the place, and then you react to what that place is making you feel and how you think you can capture that feeling - if light comes into play all well and good, but it is perfectly acceptable to make a fantastic landscape photograph without mist inversions or dramatic clouds.

Landscape is all about feeling and atmosphere.

You're like an Edwardian Curator, heading off to distant lands and bringing back all sorts of exotica, except you are bringing back images, and those images are your images, your reaction to the land and how it made you feel.

And I am sorry to say, but if they look like Joes' or Michaels' or Charlies' then they are bogus.

Here's some great examples - all random and all off the net AND all from landscape photographers . . Spot the difference - it's Glen Etive and Buachaille Etive Mor:

 

They're decent images, but there's simply no originality or feeling.

There are four separate photographers involved here (one of them incredibly well-known) who should know better. Maybe they've not seen each others images, but then this is a connected world . . . . 

I've often wondered how it would be if Photographer A, met Photographer B whilst Photographer C and a busload of acolytes were trooping towards the same spot at the same time. 

It's pre-dawn and they're only going to get one shot at 'working the light'

Would there be a Battle Royale? Ebonys at dawn? Spot meters converted into laser-lances and men in darkcloth capes doing Kung Fu moves . . .

You can sort of imagine it can't you!

I think the original photo I ever saw made of this scene from this spot was by Colin Prior back in the late '80's and then Charlie Waite, but here it is cropping up with supreme regularity all over the shop. 

Surely, surely one person has said, I know, I'll do it, but differently. 

But no . . at least not that I have ever seen. 

Sadly, I almost think it is too late.

I look at them. I see technique, but you know what, I see little passion. They're as clinical as a rectal examination.

Compare them with possibly one of my favourite photographs from the largely unlauded these days, but hugely influential British photographer Fay Godwin:

Fay Godwin – Markerstone On The Old London To Harlech Road, 1976

To my mind a photograph so utterly packed with feeling that I think it would be hard to better it - it is laced with visual harmony, feeling and balance - sorry it is such a terrible scan though.

And seeing as I mentioned Wynn earlier on, here's a favourite by him too:

Wynn Bullock - Erosion, 1959

Again, the eagle-eyed amongst you might notice there is a total absence of dramatic skies or smokey water. It's art. 

It's passion.

It's skill and an innate reaction to the land and a careful balancing of tone and spatial relationships.

In other words, it is all HIS OWN. 

His vision and his feelings. 

A purity which is rare. 

No bullshit, no bells and whistles, just honest Passion and The Feeling.

You can read a wonderful account of the making of this photographer here:

http://wynnbullockphotography.com/featured/2013-05/index.html

I'll remove my soapbox now and leave you to it . . I really could have whined on for hours, but then it would get dull, but just do me a favour will you. If you go out and try to take some Landscape Photographs, please please please, before you do anything, just take your time. 

Sit a bit and listen quietly. 

Have a think. 

Try and feel the atmosphere of the place.

And then, maybe, try and make an image that is all yours.

This wouldn't be FB if I wasn't writing about my own photography too, so here goes.

I still dont think I am anywhere near being the Landscape Photographer I want to be, but I am trying hard and listening to my feelings. The below were made on 5x4 film (FP4+) and developed in HC 110 Dilution H.

The gear was incredibly lowly . . an ancient and battered Sinar F, an old 150mm Symmar-S and and even older 90mm Angulon. The tripod is about a 1960's Linhof Twin Shank, and the head an ancient and rock solid Gitzo Series 5, which genuinly did come from the British Museum. The dark cloth was two tee shirts, and my loupe a linen tester. It was lugged in an old Deuter 25 ltr rucksack!

The cost of my tripod, which can easily manage an 11" x 14" camera, was approximately half the cost of a rooty-toot Paramo Landscape Photographers Dark Cloth . . in other words around £50

If you have the feeling my friends you don't need a massive amount of expensive gear and you really don't need to join an exclusive club to make images that satisfy you.

Permafrost

The Haunted Bridge

The above aren't great, but I think I have captured a feeling, and that is what matters (to me).

As for the soapbox, I know it all reads like sour grapes . . it isn't, I just suppose I just expect more in such a visually 'sophisticated' world. 

Anyway, enuff zee nuff, over and out for now. Take care

Big Cameras & Dark Forests

Morning shipmates - whilst I don't normally go for the throat with titles, I thought this one appropriate, however to it I will add Big Cameras & Dark Forests (A Tale Of Terror)!
Terror?

Oh yes. Sheer panicky terror, underwritten with the overwhelming feeling of there being something outwith my experience.

Regular readers (Howdy!) will know I have a strong affinity with caravans. For the uninitiated in British holidaying, the caravan and the holiday caravan (nee home) are totally different things. The former is a device towed behind your vehicle and parked up wherever you can find a decent campsite, and if you can't find one of those then a friendly bit of land somewhere. It's a sobering experience, but one I feel everyone should have the opportunity to try at least once in life. The Holiday Caravan or Holiday Home, is a static caravan on a site. These things have changed vastly in the last 15 or so years, going from thin-walled breezy barns, with a cosy 'us vs the outdoors' feeling about them, to modern palaces. Seriously - there are some very fine campsites out there with modern Holiday Homes in them that are like small palaces . . central heating, small en-suites, satellite tv, free wi-fi . . basically enough to satisfy your every holiday need. I can heartily recommend them as, if you choose your site wisely, they can provide a solid base for a touring holiday. You don't have to worry about packing up and packing down, you can spread yourself out and rise as early or late as you wish. In other words they're relaxing . . bloody relaxing.

Here's a wee film I made. The rain was real.

My tale of terror occured one wet and windy October stay in such a caravan (wot? a caravan in October? are you mad??). The site - Glentrool Holiday Park at Bargrennan near Newton Stewart in God's Own County - Dumfries And Galloway. Situated on the edge of the Galloway Forest Park, it's a really decent, well maintained and friendly site where we have enjoyed a number of excellent holidays. Allied to this it is in a Dark Sky Area, so the night skies (when it isn't raining) are extraordinary. Mix in the feeling that you are experiencing Scotland somewhat as it was in the 1970's (Galloway can be like that) and you have a recipe for delight.

Of course, this being FB I can't go far without mentioning photography . . and it is from my indulgence in this wonderful hobby that my Tale Of Terror springs.

It had been raining for a couple of days, and not just light showers either, but on and on, which does restrict one somewhat. Allied to this it was the start of October, so the nights were fair drawing in and it was getting pretty dark, pretty early, but that was mere chiffchaff for your intrepid photographer . . oh no . . I am made of sterner stuff . . true grit and all that.

I'd recc'ed White Cairn a couple of days before - it had involved lots of tramping through forest paths with exceptionally soggy boots, trousers soaked to the thigh; of sodden jackets and even having to use the AW cover on my LowePro Nova camera bag . . now that's bad! 
I found it eventually, and discovered that I could have quite easily reached it had I used the path network from Glentrool village . . but then I'm thick like that . . if there's a hard way of doing something, I'll find it.

I was taken aback by the sheer loneliness of the place. Despite being surrounded by modern planting, in my mind I clearly saw it back in time. White Cairn is approximately 3000 years old and it feels it. The small clearing where it resides holds a serious presence, but on my initial discovery of it, I was blissfully unaware of that. I just thought it was beautiful and awe-inspiring and I really wanted to photograph it with a 5x4 camera. I wandered back home, and knew I had to return.

A couple of days later found us back home from our jaunts early, so, seeing as it seemed to have stopped raining, we had our tea and I grabbed the Wista and Gitzo and headed out, deciding I would try and photograph a few forest scenes too before I got to White Cairn.

I should add that it wasn't more than half a mile away from our caravan as the crow flew. So not far - not an epic journey physically, but definitely epic in atmosphere.

Despite an end to the rain, the day was still drear and not very inviting to photography at all, but I thought I'd take my chances - I hadn't got much of the holiday left and didn't want to risk not being able to photograph it at all.

Boring techy camera bit:

I will take a little aside here and say that a lightweight wooden field camera (like the venerable Wista DX) is a thing of supreme joy from the point of view of haulage. Jack Dykynga uses one for long trips and I feel that says a lot as he could pick what he likes. I get away with mounting mine on 1980's Gitzo Series 2 Reporter. It was a reasonable purchase at £120 with a Gitzo Pan and Tilt head and is without a doubt one of the finest most stable tripods I have used. It's easy to maintain, it doesn't weigh a huge amount, and above all else it is incredibly stable. I've used it in really heavy duty windy conditions and the resulting negatives have been absolutely fine. Mine is a G224, so if you can find one, snap it up - you can still get the spares too.

With my Wista I use the following three lenses:

1980's Schneider Symmar-S - 150mm f5.6

Mid-1960's Schneider Angulon - 90mm f6.8

Late-50's Kodak Ektar - 203mm f7.7

The Symmar is the heaviest, but it is a fine lens for most applications. The Ektar I didn't have at the time of this escapade, but it is as sharp wide-open as stopped down. The 90mm Angulon just covers 5x4, but is a fine little lens and manages to impart atmosphere to photographs in a way which I am yet to understand.

Back to the Wista - whilst I would love the likes of an Ebony, not just from the point of view that it is a lovely camera, but also from the point of view of its appeal as a stunning object of great craftsmanship, the little Wista can really hold its own. It does have a certain charm and is the sort of camera that you don't have to worry too much about. I've seen people complain about the stability of the standards, but they lock down beautifully and I must admit I love mine. 

Anyway . . onwards!

So there I was, semi-burdened, heading off into the still light, but slowly darkening forest. 
I found my way quite easily and following the track as it took off through a mass of heavily-planted trees I felt it would be as good a place as any to make some photographs. Just to prove my decision right, the clouds cleared for a bit and I was regaled with a clearish sky. It was  actually a good few stops lighter, so I stopped by a burn I'd spotted previously and made two exposures using the 90mm Angulon. 
The ground glass looked good, so I felt that maybe the photographs would too.

Forest 1
Wista DX, 90mm Angulon, TMX 400 in HC110

Forest 2
Wista DX, 90mm Angulon, TMX 400 in HC110

I think the wee Angulon has captured that sense of a forest's stillness. 
The meeting of the three waters in particular struck me as very much a peculiar thing . . . there was a small rummel of sound as the water quietly made its way off into the darkness and I had the feeling of intruding on one of Natures' hidden processes. 
All was quiet apart from a couple of dogs yapping away in Glentrool Village some quarter of a mile away. I was very much alone and it felt it. Had the trees been native Scots trees rather than just another modern pine forest, I think the feeling of being disassociated from time would have been complete, because that is what I felt. 
I was using 'modern' technology (OK . . the process is over 100 years old, but you know what I mean) to capture the scene and I was wearing modern clothing, but I could just have easily been standing there in bare feet and burlap, or from an even earlier time - all animal skins and a wooden bow. 
Time meant little to me and it seeped into my bones.

It was so very peaceful and I succumbed to it. 

I don't know about you LF photographers out there, but when I am using the big boy's camera I become totally absorbed and lose track of time, which didn't help in this case. I dreamed, I was slow, I finished off at a leisurely pace, and, filled with that sense of peace and the slipping of time, I packed my camera away, collapsed the tripod and strolled on to White Cairn.

Coming out of the trees' cover I was struck by the gloam and just how totally alone I was. I knew that it would be easy to take a wrong turn on the way back so I marked where I came out of the trees, got my bearings again (though this is hard when the only horizon is trees) and continued.

Arriving at the clearing of the Cairn I suddenly realised that time was against me. I circled the tomb in the stillness and tried to get an idea of a decent composition.

It was really hard to do this because I knew I couldn't be disrespectful to the tomb. Yeah I could have got the tripod and the 90mm Angulon and got right in close to the stones, but then it wouldn't have felt right, and besides, some weird sixth sense was tickling my subconscious saying, 'Just don't even think about it'. 

I made one exposure, which didn't work at all, so moved around a bit more, and took the photograph below.

White Cairn
Wista DX, 150mm Symmar-S, TMX 400 in HC110

It's OK. Nothing special though. I am not sure whether I captured the atmosphere of the place or not.

I had to used the 150mm Symmar-S, because, as I have already said, there was no way I was going to disrespect this resting place.

As the shutter stayed open and I counted off the exposure, I instantly became aware of two things.

Firstly the sun had set, completely. The darkness was very apparent. It emphasised just how far removed I was from the modern world.

The second thing, would, in normal circumstances be considered fanciful. I was deeply aware of a presence that wished me to be gone. 
There, I've said it. 
Mad? 
No. I can at times be acutely aware of atmospheres and such things, and the Cairn had spoken: 

Begone.

The command, because it was one, took root in my core and filled my mind: 

Leave. 

I cut short my exposure, and rapidly, with shaking hands and my breath becoming visible in the chilled air, inserted the dark slide and removed the film holder, packed it away with the others, removed my cable release, attached lens cap, collapsed the camera, unscrewed the camera from the tripod, packed the camera away in my rucksack, zipped it up, did a quick double check that I had left nothing, collapsed the legs on the tripod, slung my rucksack onto my back, and with one final, hasty glance, picked up my tripod and ran.

Running was the only solution because whatever presence was there, really did wish to be alone. 
I, a mere puny modern human being had no place at the site.  
No matter my affinity with stone-age man, it wasn't enough. 
I was an unwelcome guest.

I never run. It just isn't something I do. But I had to. Complete panic filled me. I legged it out of the clearing and along a forestry Land Rover track, to the point I had marked that cut off under the trees. 

It was at this point I paused and terror pummeled my subconscious. The 'path' which was more a run of flattened rough grass and disturbed pine needles, was lost in a complete darkness. A primal fear of the unknown clung to those trees and I felt that once I entered them, I would not exit.
I could stay on the Landie track, but where would that leave me - these things have a habit of running for miles in directions you would never consider.

Caught between a rock and a hard place and the awareness that whatever stalked the clearing had now made its way free and was following me, I took one deep breath and headed into the trees.
I stumbled, I peered, I stopped and checked, and the deeper in I got, the more I realised that the presence of the Cairn suffused the whole area. It was a deep and powerful feeling that emanated from the quiet earth. 
Fear of the unknown gripped my vitals.

Halting in an almost complete darkness with my heart hammering in my ears I tried to calm myself, but it wasn't working. 
And then I heard it. 
The quiet rummel of water moving in the silence. The meeting of waters. The place of my photograph. It was nearby. 
I cautiously moved forward, using my tripod like a blind man would use his stick. I couldn't afford to fall over . . . the 'thing' behind me might well be upon me before I knew it.

And then I was splashing forward and through; beyond, distantly, the trees denseness gave way to lighter patches where they ended and I knew that I'd be able to get out. 
The last hundred metres I took as fast as I dared, and suddenly I was out and onto another path, a more familiar marked one, and I knew in the dusky overcast night that I would easily be able to follow my tracks home. 
The presence left me as quickly as I left the trees and I fancied in my head that whatever it was had toyed with me, for I was aware of a subconscious deep laughter, at me, the foolish 'modern' man.

I made my way back down onto the main road and walked back to the caravan at quite a pace, because I suddenly realised that my panic would be as nothing to my familys', had I been 'missing' in the darkness of the lonely miles of the Galloway Forest Park.

Soaked and bewildered, emanating steam and relief, I have never been so glad to see an electric light in my entire life.
And that's it friends - one of life's wee adventures.

In hindsight, maybe I could have hunkered down in the trees and over-nighted it, however I don't think my heart would have been able to stand it. 

Conversely, I could of course have headed back to the tomb and crawled inside, for it is quiet and peaceful and quite dry, and let the aeons of time strip my 'self' from my bones and given my soul to whatever spirit bides there . . .

But then again . . . 

If you have found this interesting, please feel free to follow up with some more reading!

Going through some of the links below you realise that there might well have been activity on the site dating back to the late Mesolithic (7000 to 5000 BC). When you think about it and see how much this site has been disturbed in modern times, I think that whatever presence is there, just wishes for peace.

Gods bless and thanks for reading.

http://drmarkjardine.wordpress.com/2013/06/25/the-covenanters-of-the-white-cairn-in-galloway/

http://www.ncl.ac.uk/historical/research/project/2405

http://canmore.rcahms.gov.uk/en/site/62997/details/white+cairn+bargrennan/

http://www2.uclan.ac.uk/scitechmedia/bargrennan/whitecairn.html